


Come Back to Me, Always

by BuddyTheMeanPeacock



Series: Drabbles and Oneshots (DimiClaude) [14]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attachment Issues, Dimitri is Not Okay, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), people think they're helping but oof, surreal dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyTheMeanPeacock/pseuds/BuddyTheMeanPeacock
Summary: Claude always promised to come back.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: Drabbles and Oneshots (DimiClaude) [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561504
Comments: 25
Kudos: 194





	Come Back to Me, Always

He remembers how, not too far along in the past, he would be left in solitude. He remembers being with his thoughts, the shadows, those fallen in Duscur, his family and dear friend, all joining in a cacophony of judgement and hatred, of anguish and torment. He remembers the countless hours of mindless swings of pathetic wooden spears in the training grounds, when the itch for a weapon in his hands grew too insistent to be ignored. He remembers the limbo of dragging fatigue lulling him to sleep fighting against the overwhelming fear of the visions his eye will undoubtedly be forced to witness before finally succumbing to restless night following restless night.

It was true hell, a punishment a beast like him deserved but nonetheless sought salvation from. Those he once called friends rightfully stayed back, kept to themselves in the safety of distance. There was nothing that could make him think such actions were cruel; there was no sense in risking oneself to his monstrous urges.

Then _he_ came.

They joined forces soon after they took Myrddin, after the Alliance leader drew Gloucester forces away from theirs. They’ve yet to retake Fhirdiad from that _witch_ , but his return along with three major houses standing proudly against the Empire have swayed Leicester to send aid. Their taking of the Great Bridge convinced them to merge armies officially.

With that brought Claude.

Claude von Riegan. Dimitri remembers him from back in the academy. He knew never to underestimate the fellow house leader, his way with words and cunning mind a devastating pair of weapons he wielded with the expertise of a sprouting master. Despite that, they had always stood on good terms. Cordial; that was how he would describe it. Rare was it that others came to him deliberately for simple conversation, and yet Claude would often find him for precisely that. 

Dimitri… liked it. To have someone to talk to on even footing. It was a change from the constant, unending criticisms of his father, his stepmother, Glenn, Felix, that haunted his mind every waking moment, but it was not the undeserved reverence of Ingrid, Ashe, Dedue, that twisted his gut and sickened his conscious. Claude challenged him when he thought he was wrong and praised him for giving a new perspective whenever he managed such a feat when they spoke of their ideals. He treated Dimitri as any one man would speak to another. 

He did that then and does it now.

There was a heavy reluctance from his end to receive such treatment at the beginning; he was a beast, not one any human should debase themselves with speaking to. But if there was ever one thing Claude was, it was persistent. Or perhaps senseless. Either way he was not deterred from his attempts at civilized speech with Dimitri, of mere casual talk. By now Dimitri had given up in trying to keep the man away; it was clear nothing he could do would succeed in doing so.

“And I was thinking about making poisons that could cripple demonic beasts quicker,” Claude said, his elbows resting on the table as he casually continued speaking. “The ones we use for us _puny humans_ still work fine enough, but since they’re so much bulkier than us it seems fitting to make something more potent. I’ve come up with a few concoctions that I hope will do the trick,” he tilts his head back and sighs, “ _but_ , since their bodies dissipate after they die I can’t get any good samples to test the poisons on.”

“Use them whenever we next encounter them,” Dimitri states.

Claude nods as though he knew that was the answer he would receive. “Yeah yeah. I just wish I could know ahead of time. Pretty unfortunate that I’d have to make room in my bags for something that could be useless. But, with those done, until they’re proven to be worthless I can focus on my other pet project.” He takes his hand to his chin in thought. “It’d be useful to us if we didn’t use so many different herbs to fight off different poisons. If there was a way to make one cure to fight off multiple poisons it would save a lot of hassle.”

“...Hmph.” An optimistic thought. He doubted the realistic nature of it.

Claude tilts his head to the side, a coy smile toying with his lips and arching a brow. “Something you wanna add, Your Princeliness?”

He pauses, the invitation to continue still foreign despite the now fairly familiar words. “...It would be impossible to procure an antidote without knowledge of the plants used to make the poison,” Dimitri says eventually, giving it proper thought. “Even with such knowledge, it would be unlikely to succeed. Even plants within the same family are not guaranteed to be affected by the same countermeasures. A multiple purpose cure is a foolish endeavor to strive for.”

Claude lets out a puff of air in clear mock offense, but Dimitri did not miss the look in his eyes at his words. “Oh, how you wound me! To speak so harshly on my poor idea - I’m hurt. But also curious.” He leans over the table, that look heightening in intensity. “I didn’t think you’d know about plant families. Not something I’d think you’d put much interest in.”

So that was it; Dimitri let slip an odd detail. It was a fragment of a past long lost, back when he made an innocent comment about edible weeds to Dedue. That had caused him to educate him on all matters regarding plants and herbs to avoid any unsavory incidents. Nothing Dedue ever said to him was forgotten, that knowledge included.

“Dedue would know more of it,” Dimitri tells Claude. Perhaps the pursuit of knowledge would persuade the man to leave him; Dimitri knows of Claude’s weakness to such offers. “You would do better going to him.”

“Perhaps,” was Claude’s reply. He links his hands and raises them over his mouth. “But maybe later. I wanna see how much _you_ know, now that I know you know.” He chuckles at his word choice.

A puff of air leaves his own chest.

No, by now convincing Claude to leave was an impossible task. And by now… he was… warm. To the talks. A part of his day that differed so drastically from the chasm-like rut his wicked life was trapped in. Claude does not force Dimitri to contribute to conversation; he leaves gaps for him to join in whenever he chooses. Often times he carries on by himself, filling the air with one of endless winding thoughts that occupy his vast mind.

It was never thoughtless ramblings. Each topic he decided to focus on for the day, each different from the last day’s, held so much sustenance, so much consideration, that Dimitri at times simply couldn’t bring himself to interrupt. When he does it leads to this, a quiet back-and-forth between the two of them. It was… relaxing. Soothing. A momentary respite from the torturous state his mind was otherwise ensnared in. It… helped. Get him through the days that raked across his body and left him bloodied and rotting.

A knock on the door interrupt them both. Claude turns his head back, then looks back to Dimitri. “I’ll see what that is,” he says, getting up and answering.

A moment later he returns, not returning to his seat, a disappointed look ruining his face. “Looks like we’ll have to cut this for a bit.”

Dimitri felt a cold chill crawl inside his chest. He clenches his fists under the table, resisting the urge to swallow down the sudden bile building in his throat. “ _What?_ ” he seethes, a familiar anger seeping into his voice and dragging it over gravel. 

The one person. The _one_ person who will look upon his ghastly presence and see a human, who speaks with him with the same cadence as he would with a fellow man. Who? _Who is taking him-_

Dimitri flinches. He looks down. A hand is on his.

“ _Hey._ ” Claude says quietly, leaning down on Dimitri’s left side. His hand is on Dimitri’s. “It’s not anything too serious. Shouldn’t take too long, and I’ll be back. Alright?”

His hand tightens around Dimitri’s. He finally looks to Claude. His gaze overflowed with worry, concern. 

He could make him stay. He could see it.

“Go. I will wait.”

Claude was not his to hold to himself. He will not prevent him from doing his duty.

The worry deepened, his vibrant eyes darkening. “You sure?”

 _“Go,”_ he demands.

One last squeeze, and Claude lets go, leaving the room and Dimitri alone. His hand still feels the sensation of Claude’s grip. He imagines how it would feel had their hands been bare of thick gauntlets and leather gloves. Surely Claude’s hands would feel warm. The numbness that seeps down to his bones would not extend so far as to take away that as well. 

He imagines lively green leaves full of life gazing upon him in contentment, shining brilliantly in the light of the sun. He watches them grow dark, sees the vicious wind take them away, hears them whisper a promise on the breeze over the brewing storm.

_I’ll be back._

Back to him. He simply had to wait.

“Waiting is all the good you’re for. Lazing about with this distraction when you could be granting us our freedom.”

He simply had to _wait_.

“Son, you must stop this. Go bring us peace. Bring us her head.”

_He simply had to wait._

“I knew I was never family to you. You would never set _them_ aside for some stranger. I meant nothing to you.”

**_He simply had to wait-_ **

He felt a hand on his own.

“Hey! Dimitri, are you okay?”

He was there, on his left side. He turned his gaze. Two darkened leaves were filled with worry. 

The wind was gone. He was back.

“Dimitri?”

Dimitri turned his hand to lightly, lightly grip Claude’s.

“...Arctic poppies are among some of the poisonous flowers that grow in the Kingdom,” he says slowly, his jaw aching but unclenching, his shoulders tight but relaxing, his mind lazily grasping at the tailends of their conversation before Claude left, “...but it is not enough to be called deadly.”

There was a moment of silence as Claude looked, _looked_ at Dimitri. Looked him in the eye. Looked at the interlocked hands. Then he sighs and kneels down beside Dimitri, forgoing the chair at the opposite side of the table.

“Didn’t think much of anything grew _in_ the Kingdom.” 

He had a small smile on his face. Dimitri’s mind stopped at the sight. It was beautiful. He resisted the urge to ball his hands into fists.

“Tell me more,” Claude asks, and Dimitri obeys, the room silent but for their words filling the air.

\---

Just a few more days.  
Just a few more days.  
 _Just a few more days._

“Dimitri, you’re bending the needle,” a soft voice chides. Dimitri’s sight refocuses on the clumsy needlework in his lap, his needle well past bent and properly broken in his fingers. He registers a hand leaving his shoulder. Mercedes simply passes another needle to him, which he carefully accepted. Her lavender eyes reflected the worry she clearly felt, an open book even his half-sight could read easily. “Is something on your mind? You were doing so well.”

Such a sweet statement, he could almost taste it on his dead tongue. He nearly laughed at the mangled mess of a scarf his untrained hands attempted to craft, but her question gave him pause. “...He will be returning soon,” he answers, knowing she will understand.

She gives a soft giggle, but the worry doesn’t leave. “Yes, he is, but it’ll be quite cold once he does. I know he’ll love your scarf once you’re done.”

_Your Princeliness_

_I’ve sent another letter for Teach detailing the exact details that we covered over here. Be sure they get it, yeah? But this one’s for you._

_I’m so sorry. I know I said I’d be back in a week, but I have to stay longer. A few more days, at the most. Gloucester and Ordelia have taken their usual grievances about giving aid to an_ _un_ _usually determined degree, and have stalled the pace of the meetings to that of a snail’s. I’ll do what I can to hurry things along, but there’s no stopping the delay to my return._

 _Make no mistake though, I_ _am_ _coming back. I’m not staying here a second longer than I have to. You still haven’t told me just how you got that nice fur of yours like you promised, and I’m dying to know._

_Your deer friend,_

_Claude_

_I have to stay longer.  
_ _I have to stay longer.  
_ _I have to stay longer._

Every word of the accursed letter was engraved in Dimitri's mind, every stroke of Claude's flawless, flowing penmanship a lash against his senses, but _those words_ , those, they tortured him, strangled his neck and poisoned his blood as they rang in his ears in Claude's voice. He was meant to be _here_ , but they, _they_ , **_they_** , they’re keeping him, stealing him away. Gloucester, Ordelia… they are for the Empire, Claude told him. Scum, the lot of them, nothing but _maggots_ to be killed under his boot. How dare they think they have the _right_ -

"Dimitri, you've bent another needle."

He looked down at the broken needle between his fingers.

"You two are quite close, aren't you?" Mercedes asks. Dimitri stops, the question taking him off guard. Close. Would he describe their relationship in such a way? He looks back down, gazing upon the incomplete scarf in his lap. It had been Mercedes' idea, but he agreed to it. He could not see himself doing so for anyone else, not anymore. Would Claude write someone else a letter purely for them? To reassure them of his return? Close. Were they close?

"I… am unsure," he answers finally, honestly. He… wishes to be. Close with Claude. It felt odd to admit. But it was true.

Mercedes simply smiles, her gentle face sculpted with understanding. She hands him another needle and they wordlessly continue working.

It was difficult. Far more difficult than it had any right to be; such is the norm with Dimitri and fragile work. His inhuman strength made for slow progress, but… it helped. Keep his focus. Claude’s absence, the constant presence of his specters punishing him with their belittlements… the pain those held did not disappear. But the focus necessary to break less needles, to not tear the scarf, took his mind from being completely engulfed by the endless thoughts. Mercedes’ soft voice guided him back when he would inevitably wander. Loosen your grip. Don’t pull so harshly. Is something on your mind, Dimitri? Claude will love the scarf once you’re done.

It helped.

Before he realized it they were finished, mediocre in quality but functional. He hoped Claude likes it. It has been years since he last _dared_ to hope for anything, let alone for something so trivial. Meaningless. Useless. But he did.

Before he realized it he saw the dark brown wings of Sarbi, the wyvern circling down in the lead of a battalion. Before long he saw him, stealing the sun’s miniscule light and transforming it into a golden radiance.

“Dimitri!” Claude welcomes, dismounting and walking up to him. “Sorry for the delay. I hope you got my letter-”

Dimitri shoved the scarf to Claude. “Take this."

The abrupt interruption startles him for a moment, but he soon recovers, taking the fabric in his hands. “How sweet of you, Your Princeliness,” he laughs, wrapping the light brown scarf around his neck. He winks. “Don’t tell me you got this made just for little ole me? I’ll never take it off - well, except in battle. Wouldn’t want it torn up and your money to be put to waste,” he teases, pulling the scarf up over his chin.

_It was too big for him. His face was buried in it. It looked c-_

“He actually _made_ it himself,” came Mercedes’ soft voice from behind him. Dimitri’s head snapped to her. When had she-?

“Oh.”

Dimitri turned back to Claude. He had pulled the scarf over his nose now. “It _is_ getting pretty cold,” he says through the fabric. “It’s no _fur coat_ but it’ll help nicely.” The wink returns. “Speaking of, we still have to talk about how you got yours. I hope you haven’t forgotten,” he says, a playful tilt to his voice.

Dimitri turns and walks away, knowing Claude will follow. He nods his head to Mercedes, and she gives a warm smile in return, a common habit she does with everyone.

Even him. Now.

He hears footsteps hurry their way next to him and Claude is there, to his left. “How rude of you to leave me behind,” he complains jovially. Dimitri let out a “hmph” in reply and-

Stopped.

A hand was on his. 

“Thanks,” Claude mutters. He was looking ahead. 

The grip tightened briefly. Then it was gone.

A breeze passed by. Claude was moving ahead. Dimitri felt ingrained. And warm. So warm.

He uprooted himself and followed Claude.

\---

“Where are we going?”

A laugh. “You really don’t go to the aerie often, do you?”

“The aerie?”

Dimitri wondered what Claude was up to, asking that he follow him in the last dredges of the afternoon. They were walking, Claude filling the air with his words as Dimitri listened quietly, before his suspicions demanded to be known. The answer surprises him, however. 

“Even back in the academy, I’ve never seen you fly,” Claude says, catching his attention. “I saw the sky today and thought it would be great to share with you the best way I know how.”

That only further confused him. He looked to Claude. “What would compel you to think that?”

Claude brought a hand to the scarf around his neck, running his hand down the fabric. “I had to pay you back somehow.”

He felt his eye narrow. “All of this for a piece of cloth?”

“Your Princeliness, if you don’t want to fly, you can just say so,” Claude deflects, throwing a wink at him that didn’t feel real. He didn’t want to dwell on that. Very well.

“...I lack the training to fly a wyvern,” Dimitri says, going along with the turn in subject. “They are not found in the Kingdom.”

“Oh no, they can’t stand the cold,” Claude says. He puts a hand to his chin. “Well, most don’t. There actually are one or two subspecies that live just fine in colder climates, but people have gone back and forth on whether they can really be called _wyverns_. I think that - ah! Here we are.”

Standing before the structure Dimitri wonders how he has yet to stumble upon it. It has to be one of the largest buildings Garreg Mach has to offer. Dozens of truly _cavernous_ digouts were built into the wall of the building. Each makeshift cave was well apart from one another, giving the wyverns plenty of space outside of the already generous amount their personal hole provided from the inside. It was a building the likes of which Dimitri has never before witnessed. 

“I don’t see too many others take to flying often,” Claude comments. “Hilda’s folks, Cyril and Seteth seem to be the only ones who are keen to learn how to. I was as surprised as you are now when I first saw it. It’s impressive, for how unused it is compared to everything else.”

Claude whistles; not from the caves, but from the ground level, a familiar dark brown wyvern sidled up to its master, already equipped with its saddle. So he had already prepared for this. Hm.

“You two met a while ago, but now you really get to see him,” Claude tells Dimitri. He pet the wyvern alongside its jaw, and the creature leaned deeply into the touch.

“This is Sarbi,” Dimitri states simply. A wyvern that has been with Claude since even before he entered the Officer’s Academy, so the man has told him. It held a weathered look to it - enough for Dimitri, inexperienced as he was with the scaled animals, to be able to tell as much, in any case. It must be reliable, to have been with Claude for so long.

Claude nods. “He’ll be our ride for the evening. And before you say anything, yes, he can carry both of us.”

“ _Both?”_

Claude chuckles. “Yes. You don’t see any other wyverns ready to fly, do you? I thought it’d be better if we skipped the hassle and just had me take the reigns and you hold on."

Dimitri contemplated the arrangement. Why should he agree to it? This was so different than what they have been doing; he saw no point in changing it, even for one day.

Claude seemed to read his reluctance. “Come on, I know even you can’t like being cooped up in the monastery all day every day. Once you see how it _looks_ up there you’ll be thanking me, I promise.”

Truly, he did _not_ mind being ordered to stay within the monastery grounds. Or, perhaps more accurately, his anger at being forced from the _battlefield_ was not something that could be cured from merely flying above land he’s already seen his share of. The need for battle pulsated through his blood; it felt wrong to constantly suppress it.

...But looking at Claude made denying the offer difficult. It was so rare that the man could be read so easily, but the eagerness in his eyes was too much for even Claude, with such a mastery over his emotions, to contain. Such openness was impossible for him to turn away from.

“...Very well,” he relents. The smile he received for doing so made him feel… warm.

They mount the wyvern, Claude first and then assisting Dimitri’s more clumsy efforts. Once they were seated he found that there was only one way for him to gain a proper hold when they inevitably went to the skies.

He felt the urge to jump off then and there. This was different, this was far, _far_ different, far from what he was now used to. _Always_ used to, even before he was a beast, when he had a thread of humanity he clung to, in hopes that others would see him as a man such as them. He couldn’t do this, no, he couldn’t, he, he -

Felt a hand on his own.

“Dimitri?”

He looks up. Claude’s head is turned to face him, verdant eyes dark with concern.

“Hey, if you’re really not comfortable, we can leave. It’s fine.” He twists his body to the side, a leg pulling up to swing and meet the other as he tries to **_leave_ **-

Before he could stop himself he had an arm wrapped around Claude.

“ _Don’t.”_

A moment of silence passes between them. He feels the hand still on his own past his gauntlets, but cannot feel Claude through his armor, not truly, nothing past the barest of sensations. But Claude was just the right height for his hair to meet his face, if slightly. It was… soft.

He tries to ignore it.

Eventually a chuckle breaks out. “I’d ask you to make up your mind,” Claude says, his voice too perfectly calm, “but it looks like you already have. Brace yourself, flying can be a lil’ dizzying if you’re not used to it..”

Claude whistles again, a different pitch than the first, his hand leaving Dimitri’s and taking the reigns. Sarbi beats his wings and soon they are taking flight. It takes all Dimitri has not to tighten his already worrying grip on Claude, the man’s warning proving true. They go higher, and higher, and _higher_ , the buildings growing smaller, the vast wilderness surrounding Garreg Mach coming to view only to become merely an amalgamation of greens and browns, all of which bathed in the gorgeous rays of the sunset’s light. The sky is a perfect orchestra of reds, oranges, and yellows, the lands below them playing in perfect harmony with the heaven’s rhythm.

And in the center of it all was Claude.

The man in front of him shined golden, every inch of him a new masterpiece of perfection. His radiance was matched by none, blotting out the sun and filling Dimitri’s eye with his own pure light. It entranced him. It made warmth blossom in his chest.

It made him realize.

Claude turned to him, his eyes made of beauty, a smile on his face that would make the Goddess envious. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

_He isn’t a friend._

In the first time in years he feels his face smile back.

“It is.”

_You are._

\---

Gronder came, and brought with it Dimitri’s fury.

The professor, Mercedes, Claude, they all tried to keep him away, and they all failed. Nothing, not even the Goddess Herself, could stray him from this battle, this chance at finally, _finally,_ **_finally_ ** granting his loved ones, the countless innocents, all those who died under **_her_ ** wretched hands the justice and freedom they so rightfully deserved. The blood of the endless Imperial worms danced well under Areadbhar’s red glow; their screams were joined by that of those long since dead. 

So many, there were so many red suited maggots waiting to be crushed; the field was so chaotic. Arrows shot at him from far out of his half-sight, swordsmen rushed to him and snuck in cuts and gashes. At one point some foolhardy rat even shoved him from the back, only for Dimitri to turn and see a Banshee spell from another roach mistakenly engulf whoever was desperate enough to pull such a stunt.

No matter. He threw a spear at the black-garbed pest and watched him fall as well.

A cry from his right. He quickly spun to intercept only to see a flash of blue step between him and the assassin.

“Dammit boar!”

Felix shoved off the assassin’s blade and cut him down. Dimitri turned and kept going deeper, deeper; he won’t stop until **_she_ ** is in his sights, within reach of his spear, until her head is in his hands where it belongs. Nothing will stop him. Not again. _He must kill her_.

He heard footsteps fall heavy behind him.

“Leave, Felix,” he orders.

“I should,” the swordsman spits at him, “but I won’t just stand back and watch as you get any more of us killed.”

He stops his words with that, no further reason given as to his meaning.

 **“** **_KILL HER”_ **

**_“DOUSE THE SOIL IN HER BLOOD”_ **

**_“BRING US HER HEAD”_ **

They were screaming, _keening,_ their pains reawakening at the reality of their tormentor still drawing air into her lungs. He will rip them from her chest before he tears off her head. It was these thoughts, these demands, that drove him forward, Felix only registered enough in his senses to not be mindlessly cleaved like the red dogs that served their wicked leash-holder as they ran further into the enemy’s front lines.

Time slipped through the cracks, immeasurable as they cut down soldier after soldier after soldier until

She

Came

Into 

His

Sights

He saw the look on her disgusting face, the shock, that he could dare come so close to her, so close to relieving her shoulders of the weight they carry. The screams grew _deafening_ , louder than they’ve ever been before this moment, this _glorious_ moment.

**_“Edelgard.”_ **

The name drags itself through glass as it leaves his throat, his body rejecting giving the creature before him a name with which to address any sort of humanity. She steels herself at his presence, back straighter, deformed axe raised in position, and he tightens his grip on Areadbhar in anticipation, his blood sprinting through his veins, yes, _yes,_ **_yes_** , it was here, **_here_** , they can rest, find peace, _she will die_ -

A man appears by her side, heavily injured.

He grabs her shocked body, and they are gone in an instant.

Edelgard was gone.  
Edelgard was gone.  
Edelgard was gone.  
Edelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was gone _Edelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was gone_ **_Edelgard was goneEdelgard was goneEdelgard was gone-_ **

A screech rips itself out of his throat. His father, stepmother, Glenn, everyone, _everyone,_ **_everyone, everyone_ ** _joins forces him to_ **_scream with a voice they lack_** **, scream at his failure, his continuous, unending failure to do** one thing right, that’s all we asked, was that **_so much?! How much must we ask, Dimitri?! How much must we_ ** _beg, plead with you,_ we just want peace, Dimitri. That’s all we ask of you, Dimitri. Are we being selfish, Dimitri? **Is that why you keep failing us, Dimitri? Because you deem us unworthy of justice, Dimitri?** **_She is your sister, she is alive, is that why she still lives, Dimitri?! Is her breath worth more to you than our freedom, Dimtiri?!_ **

**_ANSWER US DIMITRI  
_ ** **_ANSWER US DIMITRI  
_ ** **_ANSWERUSDIMITRI  
_ ** **_ANSWERUS-_ **

**_“_ **Boar! Snap out of it already!”

The demand, so different from the screams’, drags his mind a step into reality, though his ears were still dogged by the echoes of hatred and disappointment. Felix was glaring at him, hands daringly gripping his shoulders. Areadbhar was snapped in two in his grasp, even its mighty build unable to handle his unrestrained grasp. The fighting has stopped. The enemy’s leader retreating has murdered any resolve the remaining troops had. It was over. Gronder was over.

Edelgard lives. He wants to vomit.

“Get up. We’re going back to the others.” Felix raises from his position and waits, staring down at him with a familiar judgmental glare. He looks so much like Glenn it hurts. He gets to his feet as well, walking with some prodding from Felix. His legs were lead, even his strength barely enough to move them forward. Whatever thoughts would have entered his rattled mind were thoroughly drowned out by the reprimands of ghosts. Felix’s rhythmic call of “Boar” was the only thing that motivated him to keep going when everything in him wanted to stop.

They make it to camp after an eternity of walking past cleaved corpses. His wounds were worrying, none life threatening by itself but too numerous in number to be left alone. He allows Mercedes - only Mercedes - to heal him. She looks at him with sadness making her eyes glimmer - they were likely one of the few who have seen more death today than his.

“It’ll be alright Dimitri,” she tries to reassure him, her voice so kind, so gentle. “You’ll be okay.”

That wasn’t true.

\---

_“Where is he?”_

It was some days later, after the screams finally, _finally_ died down to their usual intensity, their usual occurrence, that it hit him. Something that consumed his mind once he realized what was missing - that something _was_ missing. Something too important to be left alone any longer than it already has been allowed to be.

“He was called to the Roundtable,” the professor answers, their unnatural eyes betraying nothing.

He glared in response to the answer. “When did he leave?”

“A couple days after Gronder. They wanted to go over how to proceed with Edelgard losing so many troops in one battle.” Their brows creased slightly then, sadness peaking through their usual stoicism. “It was short notice. I was the only one available for him to tell.”

“The man had been attached at your hip,” Glenn says, arms crossed as though annoyed. “As though he had it in him to forego telling you of any of his absences.”

"...Has,” he muttered, correcting him. Glenn does not respond.

“What?” The professor leans in slightly closer, the crease deepening. “Dimitri-”

He turns from them, his patience expired. 

Claude is away for now. Fine. He will simply wait for his return.

\---

More days pass; it has been over a week since Gronder. Still no word from Claude - no letter, no messenger, nothing, _nothing_. The thought keeps him awake at night. Gronder was a significant battle, of course he will be gone for some time. He has never been this silent before, he’s always made sure to send letters. He was busy, too busy to sit down and write to someone about something they _know_ will happen. He _always_ tells him that he will return, no matter how obvious it was that he would. His silence made sense. No it didn’t.

It kept him awake at night.

“Fool,” Glenn spits, glaring down at him. “Stop denying the truth. There’s only one reason that man would stay quiet for so long-”

“No, Glenn,” he whispers, turning away from him, to the remains of a training dummy. “Don’t say that. It’s not true. It’s _not_.”

“What was that, boar? Stop hiding beneath your voice and speak.”

Dimitri spins, fear coursing through him. When has Glenn ever called him that? The only one who ever did was-

Felix was behind him, glaring at him. “Well? What were you saying?”

Glenn stood next to Felix. Felix stood next to Glenn. They looked so much like each other. Dimitri held back a scream, instead choosing to run.

“You can run from this,” Glenn - Felix - Glenn - tells him, mockingly, “but the truth is everywhere; you can’t hide from the fact that Claude is-”

 _“Enough!_ ” he yells.

It wasn’t true.

It just wasn’t.

\---

It has been two weeks since Gronder. Claude still hasn’t returned. There has still been no letter. Sleep was impossible; Glenn made sure of such. He hasn’t slept, not even an hour, in two days. The voices were louder. The shadows were darker. It was hard to remember to eat. To drink. Broken wood and hellish nightmares were a constant.

No one would tell him where he was. Another delay. He was called to fight off demonic beasts roaming near the conference hall. His guidance was needed elsewhere. Excuse. Excuse. Excuse. 

His hand is on a door handle. It was the one to Claude’s room. This was not the first time he’s done this, going for his company only to remember he would not be there. 

But maybe - maybe _something_ would be there. Maybe he left something that no one has thought to look for yet. 

He opens the door. Scans the room.

He sees it. To the right. On a dresser.

A dusty, light brown scarf. Folded neatly. It was large. Of mediocre quality. 

No.  
Why was it here  
No  
Short notice. He couldn’t take it  
No  
A couple of days. A couple of days after Gronder.  
 _No  
_ Why didn’t he write a letter  
 **_No  
_ ** Why didn’t he tell him he would come back  
 **_No  
_ ** **_No  
_ ** **_No_ **

“I think it’s time to finally admit it, Your Princeliness.”

 _That voice_. That ridiculous title. An explosion of warmth burst within him, breaking through the dead numbness. A smile broke out on his face, his cheeks aching at the edges from such an unfamiliar action. He was back - he was back! Oh, finally, he’s returned! He knew Glenn was wrong, was punishing him for his failures with cruel remarks. He turns to face the man he so missed, so dearly wished to see again.

“Claude-!”

He stops dead.

There he was, his hand on his hip, a small smile on his face, his face catching the moonlight and giving even it a golden hue, his brown locks he knew to be soft as finely combed as always, save for some few unruly strands. There was no doubt. Claude stood before him.

But his eyes.

No light shone in them. They weren’t the leaves of spring, beautiful, full of the hearty life that made them so mesmerizing. This was mold. Disgusting. A festering disease taking place in Claude’s sockets. He couldn’t stand to see them.

They weren't alive.

A wink. “Are you seeing the truth now?”

The warmth snaps into an icy cold, his heart frozen beneath Faerghus’ lakes in the dead of winter. He couldn’t stop his mouth from gaping in horror. He felt sick to his stomach. He shook his head. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no

“Claude is alive.” He was at the Roundtable, discussing what to do about Edelgard and how best to take advantage of the massive loss in troops she took.

“Dimitri,” a shaken head, the smile dropped for a sad, disappointed frown.

He’s been delayed. There was nothing to be done about it. It was an important matter, so more time was needed for it than initially thought.

“You know that isn’t true Dimitri.”

Claude has told him numerous times how he thought it was idiotic and dangerous for Edmund to do so little about all of the demonic beasts that roamed his forests so freely. It only made sense that they would eventually come to harass them, and that Claude, so skilled in fighting, would also be asked to help fend them off.

Such a sad look. “ _Dimitri_.”

Claude was so brilliant. One of the smartest people he’s ever known. If he didn’t already have a strategy for something he was so quick on his feet it didn’t matter. Being able to receive his guidance was a privilege, akin to asking for the problem to be solved in mere moments, and he always delivered. He was certainly sought after in these trying times -

“I’m dead, Dimitri -”

“ ** _NO!”_ **

Imposter. A fake. This wasn’t Claude.

This room. He had to leave.

“You wound me, Your Princeliness!” It puts a hand to its chest in mock hurt. It looked so much like Claude. “I know my room is messy but you don’t _have_ to leave.”

Dimitri runs out of the room. He rips open the door to his own. He makes it to his bed and falls, his body on the floor as his chest and head spill over on the edge of the mattress. He squeezes his eye shut. Please. Please. Please. Get him away. _Get him away_.

His mind fades.

\---

He hears a chuckle. “Now _Your Esteemed Highness_ , that is simply _no_ way to go to sleep.”

Dimitri’s head shoots up, the cricks and pains to his neck ignored in favor of looking towards the voice. 

“Claude…”

The man smiles, beauty incarnate. “Here here! Now, are you up for talking with me for a bit, or are you too stiff from your horrible nap to move? I’ve found out about ******************* and I want to-”

He rushes to Claude and engulfs him in an embrace. His hair feels _as soft as he remembers._

“I missed you,” Dimitri whispers, his throat tight.

He feels a hand on the back of his head, rubbing up and down in slow, soothing motions. “It’s alright, Dimitri. I’m here.”

He is. He is.

They move slowly, Dimitri refusing to let go, to Claude’s room. They sit on the table he got just for their talks. Only then does Dimitri release him, for them to place themselves in their usual seats.

Claude opens his mouth.

“***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************”

His words fly over Dimitri’s head, but he does not mind. He only wishes to see Claude, see how animated he gets when he reaches an exciting moment in his talking, see how his eyes glow in glee, see how genuine his smile becomes. He was so perfect.

Claude stops and looks at him. There was a worry in his eyes, but nothing serious, nothing more than an exasperated look-at-yourself worry. “Dimitri, you’re exhausted. You should get some actual sleep.”

Fear courses through him.

A hand is on his own in an instant.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The fear is gone.

Instead of leaving for his room Claude simply guides him to his bed. It was strange, him never laying in it before, but it felt-

“Sweet dreams, Your Princeliness.

His mind fades.

\---

He awakens to aches and sores firmly settled in his body. It was hard for him to believe that he has finally gotten some rest, after so long without it… no. This was not rest. He could scarcely move without some part of his body protesting loudly, begging to stay still. But he arises nonetheless, his bones cracking and popping.

He doesn’t know what to do. Leave the room, certainly, but to what? More lies from the others? Why won’t they tell him where Claude is. It angers him.

He leaves the room and walks down the hall. He does not make it far before he comes across Claude’s.

Maybe - maybe _something_ would be there. Maybe he left something that no one has thought to look for yet. 

He opens the door. Scans the room.

He sees it. To the right. On a dresser.

A dusty, light brown scarf. Folded neatly. It was large. Of mediocre quality. 

No.  
Why was it here  
No  
Short notice. He couldn’t take it  
No  
A couple of days. A couple of days after Gronder.  
 _No  
_ Why didn’t he write a letter  
 **_No  
_ ** Why didn’t he tell him he would come back  
 **_No  
_ ** **_No  
_ ** **_No_ **

“We’ve been over this already, Your Princeliness.”

 _That voice_. That ridiculous title. An explosion of warmth burst within him, breaking through the dead numbness. A smile broke out on his face, his cheeks aching at the edges from such an unfamiliar action. He was back - he was back! Oh, finally, he’s returned! He knew Glenn was wrong, was punishing him for his failures with cruel remarks. He turns to face the man he so missed, so dearly wished to see again.

“Claude-!”

He stops dead.

There he was, his hand on his hip, a small frown on his face, his face catching the moonlight and giving even it a golden hue, his brown locks he knew to be soft as finely combed as always, save for some few unruly strands. There was no doubt. Claude stood before him.

But his eyes.

No light shone in them. They weren’t the leaves of spring, beautiful, full of the hearty life that made them so mesmerizing. This was mold. Disgusting. A festering disease taking place in Claude’s sockets. He couldn’t stand to see them.

They were dead.

A wink. “Ready now, Dimitri?”

The warmth snaps into an icy cold, his heart frozen beneath Faerghus’ lakes in the dead of winter. He couldn’t stop his mouth from gaping in horror. He felt sick to his stomach. He shook his head. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no

“Claude isn’t dead.” He was at the Roundtable, discussing what to do about Edelgard and how best to take advantage of the massive loss in troops she took.

“ _Dimitri_ ,” a shaken head, the smilesmilesmiledroppedforasad,disappointedfrown.

He’s been delayed. There was nothing to be done about it. It was an important matter, so more time was needed for it than initially thought.

"Told you I'd always come back."

Claude has told him numerous times how he thought it was idiotic and dangerous for Edmund to do so little about all of the demonic beasts that roamed his forests so freely. It only made sense that they would eventually come to harass them, and that Claude, so skilled in fighting, would also be asked to help fend them off.

**"Dimitri."**

Claude was so brilliant. One of the smartest people he’s ever known. If he didn’t already have a strategy for something he was so quick on his feet it didn’t matter. Being able to receive his guidance was a privilege, akin to asking for the problem to be solved in mere moments, and he always delivered. He was certainly sought after in these trying times -

“I’m _dead_ , Dimitri -”

“ **_NO!”_ **

Impostor. A fake. This wasn’t Claude.

This room. He had to leave.

“You wound me, Your Princeliness!” It puts a hand to its chest in mock hurt. It looked so much like Claude. 

A laugh. “ _I_ _t?_ Dimitri, I’m hurt. I know I’m _dead_ but I still have feelings, you know.”

Dimitri runs out of the room. He rips open the door to his own. He makes it to his bed and falls, his body on the floor as he drapes his chest and head on the edge of the mattress. He squeezes his eye shut. Please. Please. Please. Get him away. _Get him away._

His mind fades.

\---

His mind was sluggish as he came back to wakefulness. He blinked his eye as light streamed from the window.

“You’re finally awake.”

Dimitri shoots up at the voice, turning his head. There Claude sat, bathed in the morning sun’s rays, his radiance making even the pitiful, oversized scarf around his neck seem magnificent.

He rose from his place on the floor. “Claude…”

He crushed the man in an embrace, his face in Claude’s hair. _It was as soft as he remembers_.

Claude wraps his arms around Dimitri in return. They stand there, silent, basking in the other’s presence. It was bliss. He couldn’t ask for anything more than this.

“Dimitri,” Claude says, his voice strangely soft. Dimitri leans back and looks at him. Claude’s face was… uncertain. How odd. He vaguely remembers this look, this sound, when they first reunited, when Claude first witnessed the beast Dimitri was. That one word said before a scarf covered his nose. “I had to come and ask; this scarf. Mercedes says you made it yourself. Is… that true? You made this for me?”

“Yes,” he answers. “It was her idea, but I agreed to it.”

“Oh,” Claude says. Dimitri saw a small smile peak through the scarf that covered it. It warmed him. It grew, less sincere with a wink to follow it. “Well, that was all I wanted to know. Sorry to interrupt your nap.”

He tenses.

A hand grabs his own.

He relaxes.

“Go get some sleep; you need it. Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Dimitri nods, the reassurance a gift. He goes back to his bed, Claude staying where he was.

His mind fades.

\---

His eye begs to stay closed as his mind creeps back into his skull. Tired. So tired. He longed for rest.

He rises. He leaves his room. He’s drawn to Claude’s.

He opens the door.

Claude is there, holding the scarf on his dresser near the doorway. Glenn is nearby, arms crossed as though annoyed, a familiar look for him. His father and stepmother flip through the scarce books near his bed.

They all stare at him upon his arrival. Strange lilac. Piercing blue. Startling orange. Brilliant green. All dead.

“Dimitri!” Claude smiles wide and walks to him, scarf still in his hands. Dimitri’s heart freezes; he can’t move. "We’ve been waiting for you!”

He does not respond. Can not.

“I’ve been talking with these _lovely_ people here,” and he swings his arm back. Glenn scoffs. His father and stepmother chuckle at the silliness. They never stop staring. “And we’ve all agreed on something.”

He is so close now.

He brings his hands up high. They are bundled in cloth.

“ **Die.”**

Dimitri runs.

 **_ACCEPT YOUR PUNISHMENT  
_ ** **_YOU MUST PAY THE PRICE  
_ ** **_YOU’VE FAILED US TOO MUCH  
_ ** **_COME BACK_ **

Dimitri slams shut the door to his room and makes for his bed. He falls, his chest and head spilling over the mattress. He closes his eye. Please.

Banging on the door.

“Dimitri, stop this. This is unbecoming of you.”

Please.

“Dear, please, open the door. We just want to be with you.”

_Please._

“Will you just open the damn door already? You’re acting like a child.”

**please.**

“Come on Your Prin-”

**_PLEASE._ **

His mind fades.

\---

He’s in the air. The land below them is bathed in the sunset’s rays.

Claude is golden in front of him. He turns to face him, a smile perfecting his face.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Dimitri smiles back.

“You are.”

He closes his eye.

He’s in heaven

\---

He can’t breathe.

“I had such high hopes for you, son.”

A cloth around his neck.

“If only I were family. That’s why you failed us, isn’t it?”

He’s dying.

“It’s what you deserve, useless fool.”

Where was Claude?

One last breath. He can’t see him. Where is he?

His vision blackens.

He wakes up.

\---

He wakes up.

\---

He wakes up.

\---

He wakes up.

\---

He wakes up.

\---

He wakes up.

\---

He wakes up.

Lead. Every inch of him is heavy. Screams in pain. He moves; his body hates him for it. 

“You should eat, Dimitri,” a worried voice tells him.

 _IT’S STILL HERE  
_ _IT WASN’T A DREAM._

Claude would want him to eat. He rises. The fear, the dread, leaking, leaking, ignored. As much as possible.

He moves, slowly, to the dining hall. The chef woman’s eyes are drowned in terror as she hands him food. He takes it. He sits down. It sits down in front of him.

“Ooooh, pheasant. You remembered my favorite.” A giggle. Go away. Go away. Claude isn’t dead. Go _away_ -

“Dimitri, you’re bending your fork.”

His head shoots up. Mercedes gazes down at him, a worried look carving her face. She had the same dish as him. She places it down in the seat in front of him - 

“ _Don’t!"_

It left his mouth before he could stop himself.

A wink. “How sweet of you.”

Mercedes jumps at the shout, but asks nothing. She simply nods and places her tray in a seat next to the one denied to her, her eyes forlorn. “Dimitri, please, talk to me. You look ghastly. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Tell me where he is.”

Mercedes leans in, slightly closer. “What? I didn’t hear you, Dimitri.”

“Speak up, will you?”

Dimitri takes in a breath. Lets it out. In. Out. “ _Please_ ,” he begs, “ _tell me where he is_.”

A moment of silence. Dimitri stares at Mercedes’ sad, sad face. He desperately ignores the other. 

Finally, finally, after an eternity, she answers. “We were wrong.”

Guilt dripped from her voice. It confused Dimitri. “What?”

“I can’t tell you now. But tonight… wait for the night. I can show you then.” she takes her own breath as Dimitri struggles to understand. “We thought we were helping you - they’ll _still_ think they are. But you’re suffering so much. Please, just be a little more patient. You’ll see him again tonight.”

You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.

He finishes his food.

You’ll see him again tonight.

He smashes training dummy after training dummy into pieces.

You’ll see him again tonight.

He was told to leave the training grounds for the day.

You’ll see him again tonight.

He went to his room.

You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.  
You’ll see him again tonight.

A knock on his door snaps him from his thoughts. He looks to the window. Moonlight shone through the window, draping the floor in silver. The knock. It must have been Mercedes, to show him where he was. He raced to the door, hope filling him, a spark of warmth at finally seeing him again ridding him of the unbearable heaviness that dragged his every step as he swung open the door - 

“W-whoa. Someone’s… eager to see me, huh?”

Claude.

Claude leaned on the wall just before the doorway in the garb given to those recovering, wincing but still smiling. He panted slightly, trying to hide it but falling miserably short of doing so. He looked up at Dimitri. His eyes were shining, so vibrant, so full of life despite his utter, blatant discomfort. 

Claude.

It was him.

Dimitri felt his body tremble. It was him. Breaths were shaky. It was him. Throat tight. It was him. Chest on fire. It was him. _It was him_.

“Claude… you’re here…” he gets out.

Claude nods. “It’s so good to see you, Dimitri… even if, I’m still a little out of it.”

His brows crease, confused. Claude takes a breath and continues.

“I… I left the infirmary. Behind most of the healers’ backs, haha.”

The infirmary. He never left the monastery. He had been so close. “The infirmary?”

“Y-Yeah. Gronder was… something else. Took a hit that hit a little too hard. Scared the healers for a while but- I should be alright.”

Gronder. Gronder did this.

Glenn was wrong. He didn’t lose Claude. 

He _almost_ did.

Claude was still hurt. “You walked from the infirmary…”

“To here, yeah.” He winks again. “Knew you’d missed me.” Then it fades. The jovial smile, the playful winks. Only sadness, a _mournful_ look takes its place. “I’m so sorry, Dimitri,” he breathes out. 

His body demanded he give Claude, so radiant even now, his space, to not taint Claude with his miasma of filth. But. He could not stay here. He was hurt. He needed to rest. He forced his legs forward, his arms to rise.

“D-Dimitri?” Claude’s green, beautiful eyes shine with confusion. “What are you -”

Gently, gently, as gently as his monstrous being could muster, he takes hold of Claude. Wraps an arm around his back. Bends to take his long legs slowly, slowly into the air.

Claude’s eyes were wide and shined with shock, and then glimmered with amusement. “Oh, my prince!” He puts the back of his hand to his forehead, his smile so wide and happy. “Here to carry me to my bed! I’m so - honored.”

Dimitri’s heart beat faster than the best of Gautier’s stallions. Could Claude feel it through the armor that separated him and Dimitri’s chest?

“...You should have never left it,” he replies. He hears Glenn cackle.

“And put _Mercedes_ tricking a poor innocent nun to waste? I could never,” Claude says.

_Wait for the night_

_They’ll_ still _think they’re helping_

_You’ll see him again tonight_

“I see.” So this is what she meant. Funny. He never thought he’d known a goddess for so long.

“Man, those nuns _are_ something else though,” Claude keeps going. “I’ve slipped by more than... my fair share of guards and lookouts, but _those_? Even if I wasn’t as sorry as I was now I couldn’t hope to... to beat such a strict watch rotation. They _must_ have some sort of concoction keeping them up... eight hours of doing nothing but standing there watching drugged up soldiers? I bet even the gatekeeper sees more action…”

Dimitri lets Claude’s voice wash over him, the words pausing at points, the topic rambling in nature. Claude was back. 

_Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

He walks. The night breeze does nothing to temper the blaze in his chest. He walks. The few night owls still awake flee at the sight of them. He walks. “It must be kinda hard to walk up stairs with me, isn’t it? Here, lemme -” “Nonsense.”

They make it to the infirmary. They enter, many of the beds still occupied by unfortunate soldiers. Claude lets out a bitter chuckle. “None of us made for the… best of talkers.”

An empty bed in the back - that was their destination. Then, only then, did Dimitri set Claude down, slowly, slowly, gently on the mattress. Claude only flinched slightly.

Claude smiles up at him, eyes already half closed. “Thanks, Dimitri… doubt I could have made it back… myself…”

“You never should have left,” he repeats. Claude chuckles. He yawns. His eyes are nearly fully closed. He lazily raises a hand to meet Dimitri’s.

Dimitri’s heart skips a beat.

“I’ll… see you when I wake up.”

His heart stops.

Claude relaxes fully into the bed, his breaths an even cycle of ins and outs. A small smile was on his face. His hand was still caught in Dimitri’s.

Dimitri set it down. He looked at his hand, still covered in thick gauntlets.

He undoes one strap. Then another. It takes some time, but his hand is free. Bare. Just as Claude’s was.

He swallowed as he reached for it. His hand was shaking. The gap was so large.

Then. He had it. Claude’s hand in his own.

He smiles, wide, sincere, happy. So happy.

Claude's hand was warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Hey let's do some Sad Times and have Dimitri see Claude's "ghost" it'll be sad but short
> 
> Dimitri: good meme mind if i *9k words*
> 
> Me: :C


End file.
